


S8 Finale Coda

by sixtysevenlmpala



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Batcave, Coda, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post Season/Series 08 Finale, S8 Finale Coda, Season/Series 08, Trials, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-11
Updated: 2013-06-11
Packaged: 2017-12-14 16:57:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/839202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sixtysevenlmpala/pseuds/sixtysevenlmpala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for <a href="http://d5133judy.tumblr.com/">Vanessa</a> who prompted: "Wincest coda fic for S8 finale, Sam's POV and finish that sentence of 'Do you have any idea what it feels like to watch your brother just--'"<br/>So... here that is. Originally posted on <a href="http://sixtysevenlmpala.tumblr.com/post/51182877568/but-i-cant-do-it-without-you-thats-what-dean">tumblr</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	S8 Finale Coda

“But I can’t do it without you.”

That’s what Dean says, and it hurts Sam like a spike nailed through his chest, an inch deeper with every word, because it’s not true. It can’t be true. Dean’s perfectly fine without him, better even, and Sam doesn’t want him to lie for his sake. He shakes his head disbelievingly, staring at his brother. “You can barely do it _with_ me,” and his stomach clenches sickeningly. “I mean, you think I screw up everything I try, you think I need a chaperone, remember?”

“C’mon, man, you know that’s not what I meant.”

“That’s _exactly,_ what you meant,” Sam replies brokenly, because that’s what he is.

And then he feels something give, and he just can’t find the strength to _care_. Doesn’t care about preserving his pride in front of the one person whose view of him he actually values, doesn’t care about hiding how low his self-worth is. Not anymore.

“You wanna know what I confessed in there? What my greatest sin was?” he asks, ignoring the throbbing in his arm, and Dean says nothing. A part of Sam wants his brother to stop him before he can say it, but that’s a very small part. “It was how many times I’d let you down.” Over the pain coursing through him right now, Sam can feel another stab that’s entirely different, one that hurts him right to the core, the truths passing through his lips barbed and poisonous. “I can’t do that again.”

“Sam.”

“What happens when you’ve decided I can’t be trusted _again?_ I mean, who’re you gonna turn to next time? Instead of me. Another angel, another… another vampire?”

The image of Dean standing in front of him blurs so much that he wouldn’t be able to tell who it was, were it not him, and he doesn’t know whether it’s tears or the searing magic churning inside him. He doesn’t know if he cares. It’s hopeless – _he’s_ hopeless, such a waste of space that even Dean can do without him, so useless that he’d rather trust monsters than trust Sam, his own Sammy.

He forces back a sob and chokes out, “Do you have any idea what it feels like to watch your _brother_ just—“ and Dean opens his mouth, steps forward, starts to raise a hand, but Sam pushes forward because he’s got nothing left to lose. “—just push you to one side? Like you’re forgettable, like you’re… second best?”

Dean’s marching forward, then, gripping both his shoulders firmly and barking, “Hold on.” Sam looks to the side, looks down, anywhere but into Dean’s eyes, shielding his brother from gazing into the pain on his face. “You seriously think that? Because none of it— _none of it_ , is true.” 

Sam winces, hissing through his bared teeth, and he’d like to say it was because of how much he’s hurting but it’s more to do with how he can’t bring himself to put any faith into Dean’s words, can’t believe them.

“Listen, man, I know we’ve had our disagreements, okay – hell, I know I’ve said some junk that’s set you back on your heels. But Sammy,” and Sam pulls away at the sound of the pet name, stumbling backwards towards where Crowley’s slumped in the chair, but Dean just follows, stays right there with him, only this time his hands are either side of Sam’s face, forcing him to meet his eyes. “C’mon,” Dean says, voice low and desperate. “I killed Benny, to save you. I’m willing to let this bastard, and all the sons of bitches that killed Mom, _walk_ because of you – don’t you _dare_ think that there is anything, past or present, that I would put in front of you!” He’s shouting now, and Sam has to blink away tears because he doesn’t believe him, but he wants to. God, he wants to. One hesitant hand clings to the front of Dean’s shirt, clutching at him, and Dean yells at him, “It has _never_ been like that, _ever_. I need you to see that. I’m begging you.”

Sam’s heart wrenches as he takes a breath that’s deep and maybe cleansing if he hopes hard enough - and he unclenches his fist, lets the blood drip uselessly to the floor. As soon as it’s gone, he asks through gritted teeth, “How do I stop?”

And Dean says, “Just let it go.”

Sam shakes his head feverishly. “I can’t. It’s in me, Dean, you don’t know what this means—“ and Dean yanks him forward roughly, crashes their lips together, and Sam sobs into the kiss, holds onto him like he’s drowning because he feels like he is. His head is pounding, his lungs feel like they’re filling with something other than air and he feels like he’s going to fly apart.

“We’ll figure it out, okay,” Dean mutters against his lips, calloused thumbs brushing away the tears that they don’t have to talk about to acknowledge. He’s bandaging Sam’s glowing hand, then, and Sam’s shaking but it’s okay, it’s okay because Dean’s smiling at him and saying, “Just like we always do,” as if it’s that simple. It won’t be simple, Sam knows, but maybe it’ll be do-able – as long as Dean’s with him.

He lets Dean hug him, and he clings to him like he’s stranded at sea in the biggest storm of the century and Dean’s the only rock. Eventually, he feels something seeping out of him, the light radiating from his arm fading. “Look, look,” he says breathlessly, and Dean gives him that smile again, replies, “See?”

Half a smile cracks Sam’s face apart.

Maybe they can do it.

A sudden lightning bolt of pain pierces right through him and he cries out, sagging against Dean, lips skidding across Dean’s cheek before he wrenches himself away from him, doubling over on himself. He’s never felt anything as intense, the feeling equalling only what he’d felt in Hell. He lets out another strangled sound as his knees buckle, and Dean grabs him as his vision melts into nothing, the striking green of his eyes the last properly defined thing he makes out.

Later, when he wakes up in the Batcave, his memory is a confused blur of falling stars, Dean’s voice telling him _it’ll be okay, you’re gonna be alright, c’mon Sammy stay with me_ and Dean’s hands dragging him into the Impala, carrying him.

He’s alone, and he feels like he’s been back in the Cage. His whole body feels wrung out and his throat is burning, voice scratchy as he calls out, “Dean?”

Almost instantly, Dean rounds the corner into the room, carrying a tray laden with food that makes Sam want to throw up. “Yeah, buddy, I’m here.” He advances further into the room, sits next to Sam on the bed, and that’s when Sam realises he’s on Dean’s memory foam mattress instead of his own. The thought makes him smile, but he groans as soon as Dean plonks the tray down in front of him.

“That looks disgusting,” Sam moans, looking down at the grease-ridden burger on his plate.

“Don’t get all high and mighty, dude,” Dean tells him. “You love it.” Sam opens his mouth to protest but Dean interrupts, “Just eat. You need it. I’m not arguing about this,” so Sam sighs and takes a bite, his hand shaking from the effort of even picking the burger up. Dean peers at him. “How you feeling?”

Sam huffs out a weak, sad laugh. “Awful. I feel like—like I’m never gonna get up again.”

“Well, don’t try.” Dean pushes Sam’s matted hair back off his face and flashes him a reassuring smile that Sam thinks is a little lack-lustre. “We’ll getcha back on your feet, Sammy, but it doesn’t have to be right now.”

“Dean,” Sam mumbles, forcing a tiny shred of his burger down his throat and wincing at how it scrapes. “What—what happened?”

Dean lowers his eyes. “It doesn’t matter.”

Sam raises his eyebrows. “Yes, it does,” he croaks indignantly. “I can’t remember. I have no idea how I even got here – just tell me.”

“You got here ‘cause I got you here!” Dean snaps, immediately softening his voice afterwards as Sam flinches. “I don’t wanna talk about it, Sam.”

Sam swallows, waits a beat or two before he speaks. “Please? You don’t—don’t have to go into details. I just need to know what happened to me.”

Dean pinches the bridge of his nose and heaves a deep sigh. The silence stretches out until Sam thinks he’s not going to speak, thinks he’s pushed too far and he’s shut off, but then Dean speaks in a robotic, blank tone. “You collapsed, in the church. But I caught you. Got you outside to Baby and—“ he pauses, a look passing across his face, and Sam wonders if he intentionally missed something out when he goes on, “—and you kinda passed out on the floor, so I had to, uh. Put you in the car, laid you out on the back seat. And then I drove just as damn fast as I could. Thought about… y’know, taking you to a hospital, but. I knew they wouldn’t be able to do anything, so I brought you back here.” Dean swallows and looks down. “And then you started screaming.”

“Screaming?” Sam repeats, thinking about the hoarseness of his throat, and Dean nods.

“You weren’t awake, you were, uh. Still unconscious, but you wouldn’t—wouldn’t stop, couldn’t hear me, you just—wouldn’t stop, it was so—“ Dean clears his throat gruffly, scrubs both hands over his face and through his hair. “Some of it was Latin. Some of it was something else, something I’d never heard. And… some of it was English.”

Sam stares at him, his stomach coiling unpleasantly. “What did I say?”

A huge sigh wracks Dean’s body. “Things about… about closing the gates. About failure, about, uh, consequences. About death. And then you were, uh. Calling me, calling my name. Asking me to help, Begging me to… make it stop. To love you.”

“Oh.” Sam doesn’t really know what to make of any of that.

Dean nods, mumbles, “So we, uh, we got back here, and I carried you to my room. Tried to lay you down but you wouldn’t—you were shaking, and, like. It was like you were having a seizure. It was—I didn’t know what to do.” Sam reaches over and covers Dean’s hand with his own, and Dean doesn’t move it away, not like he usually would. “I just talked to you, but I don’t think you heard. And I tried to hold you down but you, uh, you fought me off. Still wouldn’t wake up, just threw yourself around and yelled and-and screamed. All night.”

“I’m sorry,” Sam whispers, and Dean immediately shakes his head.

“Don’t you say that,” he snaps, “don’t you goddamn _apologise_ , Sam, none of this is on you. None of it.”

“I chose to do the trials,” Sam points out quietly.

“Yeah, and I wanted to, as well. If I’d done it, that would’ve been me back there. So don’t you pin this on yourself. I won’t let you.”

Hanging his head, Sam mutters, “No, ‘cause you would’ve gone through with it. You wouldn’t’ve failed.”

“I would’ve if you’d asked me to,” Dean hisses fiercely, turning his gaze on Sam and cupping his face. “I would’a done the same, Sam, alright? I hear you blaming yourself for any of this crap again, I swear to God, I’m gonna hit you.”

“Fine,” Sam mumbles, if only to get him to shut up.

After a moment or two, Dean asks softly, “You know I do, right?”

Sam blinks, lost. “What?”

“Love you.” Sam stares at him like he’s grown another head. As much as they’d been together for a few years now, and as many times as Sam had mumbled it to Dean late at night, curled around him in a bed too small for the both of them, Dean had never said it himself. Sam had always known, even so, and he’d never really needed to hear it, but it still stopped him in his tracks to see Dean’s lips shaping themselves around those words. “When you were… last night. You kept pleading with me to love you. ‘I need you to love me more than anything, Dean, please, love me, love me, I need you to save me’. I just… I thought you knew that. But. I need you to know. I do.”

Sam’s cheeks flush a little, partly because Jesus does he sound needy, and partly because this is an unusual amount of affection from Dean, and he feels kind of flustered. “I-I know you do,” he chokes out, and inexplicably, his eyes start to well up. He blinks furiously and ducks his head, wiping quickly at his eyes, and Dean forces his head back for their gazes to meet.

“Hey,” Dean smiles. “Hey, it’s okay. You can cry if you want, man, God knows you’ve been through enough.”

Sam swallows thickly and shoves the barely-touched tray from his lap, instead turning into Dean’s side and winding his arms around Dean’s neck. Dean doesn’t respond for a second, just sitting there frozen, but then he seems to get with the program and wraps Sam up in a warm embrace, and Sam lets himself cry into his brother’s shoulder. “Love you too,” he whimpers weakly, and Dean shushes him, stroking his back.

“We’ll figure this out,” Dean murmurs into his hair as he runs the fingers of one hand through it, and the phrase reminds Sam of the night before, an intense shiver making its way through him.

“How?” he asks, hopelessness bleeding into his tone.

“Dunno yet,” Dean answers simply, pulling back and wiping Sam’s tears, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “I’ll find something, okay? I’ll read every goddamn book in this place if I have to, and I’ll find out how to make you better. Make the pain go away, make it stop, just like you said. I will, Sammy. Not gonna let you go.” He grins at him, too bright, bright enough to make Sam’s heart skip just a little, like it used to, before any of this started. “In the meantime, we’re gonna build your strength up best we can. So eat up.” He reaches over and pulls the tray back onto Sam’s lap, tapping it pointedly with his fingers.

“Dean, I really don’t—“

“Are we gonna have to do the whole airplane thing again?” Dean asks, and Sam smiles faintly.

“No, I just don’t feel like I can…”

“Right. You asked for it.”

“Dean—“ Sam protests, his voice laced with the hint of a laugh as Dean grabs for his burger, tears off a tiny piece and shoves Sam back against the pillow. Dean ignores him, just grins as he makes droning airplane noises, bringing the bite-sized piece on a winding path closer and closer to Sam’s mouth.

Sam turns his head away in refusal, pressing back against the pillow, but eventually rolls his eyes and gives up, because it’s either that or let Dean carry on smearing the food around his mouth and chin. “You’re such a _child_ ,” he complains around his mouthful.

“No, I think that’s actually you right now,” Dean muses, and feeds him another bite before he can object.

Sam narrows his eyes at his brother and tries half-heartedly to move away, mainly on basic principle, but Dean picks up the tray, throws a leg over Sam and settles in his lap, placing the tray next to them.

“Not goin’ nowhere,” Dean says matter-of-factly, and Sam can’t help but smile even as he sighs.

Sam lets his brother feed him for a little while longer until he really can’t take anymore. “Okay, no—no more,” he mumbled, “I can’t,” and Dean nods.

“S’okay,” he says, “you did good.”

Hesitating, Sam asks softly, “Will you just kiss me?” and his voice sounds weak even to himself. It’s a weak thing to ask—a stupid thing, really, and Dean’s probably going to mock him for it, but he can’t help it. He can’t remember the last time he needed Dean as much as he does now, needed the closeness and the comfort of lips on lips, needed to live through his brother and feed off his energy.

“Yeah, Sammy,” Dean murmurs, “anything you want,” and Sam lets out a small sigh as Dean leans forward, holding Sam’s head still as he kisses him slow and steady, pressing him back against the pillows. It’s like he’s breathing new life into him, his lips warming with every touch, pulse rate struggling back up to something resembling normal from the sluggish pace it’s been stuck at since he woke. “S’long as you need me to, I’ll give you anythin’ you want,” Dean whispers against his lips, pecking them, and Sam clutches at him.

“Always,” he says, desperate and earnest, “need you always, Dean,” and Dean smiles, ruffles his hair a little as he pulls back.

“You too, Sammy. Promise.”

And Sam, well. Somewhere in the cavity of his chest, somewhere deep enough that it almost hides from him, Sam believes him.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, feel free to leave a comment/kudos if you liked!


End file.
